


So Quite a New Thing

by Lalalli



Series: The Applebirds and The Applebees [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feels?, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Humor, Loss of Virginity, Oblivious Science Babies, fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:03:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5988349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalalli/pseuds/Lalalli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lately, all Jemma can think about are onion rings and mozzarella sticks and that thing Sally Weber said and how she could date someone who hides his inconsiderateness until it’s too late, and it all points to one blatantly obvious and inevitable truth:</p><p>She needs to have sex with Fitz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Quite a New Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the poem "I like my body" by EE Cummings.
> 
> Part three of a series - I don't think reading part two is strictly necessary, part one provides a lot of background information.
> 
> Even though this story IS about Fitzsimmons doing the do, there's nothing too explicit in here, I think.

Jemma would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it a lot.

Lately, all she can think of is that uncomfortable talk with the onion ring and mozzarella stick and Sally Weber saying that kissing is a good indicator of how a person will be in bed and her awkward date with Michael and how she could one day go on a date with someone who hides his inconsiderateness a bit better than him only for it to show up later on, and it all points to one blatantly obvious and inevitable truth:

She needs to have sex with Fitz.

Really, it makes sense for their first times to be together. They were each other’s first intellectual equals, first best friends, first kiss, first...everything. Why not this too? Fitz might be hesitant at first, but she’s certain that she can make him see reason.

It occurs to her a half-second too late that it probably isn’t the best idea to bring it up while Fitz was busy practicing unclasping her bra with one hand with his face buried in her chest.

He freezes. "Whaaa?" he yelps, his voice muffled by her breasts. He drops his hands from her and sits back, his eyes wide. "What?"

“I think we should have sex,” Jemma repeats, noting with disappointment that Fitz hadn’t quite succeeded in unclasping her bra.

Jemma waits patiently, noting the many miniscule changes in Fitz’s expression as it changes from shock to confusion to fear to worry and back to confusion. After a good many false starts, opening his mouth and then apparently thinking better of it, he ends up simply asking, “Why?”

Jemma fights through her urge to look down at the suddenly fascinating couch cushions and maintains eye contact with him. “Because. I want my first time to be with someone I trust.”

Fitz scratches the back of his head. “But wouldn’t you rather lose your virginity to someone you love?”

Jemma rolls her eyes. "First of all, virginity is an arbitrary construct fabricated by a patriarchal society in order to subjugate women."

"Didn't you say the same thing about high heels two days ago?" Fitz reminds her.

"Only because it's true!" Jemma insists. "Think about how many cultures decree that the most appropriate way for women to dress is in garments that restrict their ease of movement!" She lowers her voice and says conspiratorially, "It's because they don't want us to escape."

Fitz furrows his brow in confusion. "Escape what?" He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Never mind. Focus. Second?”

Jemma blinks, having already lost her train of thought. “Second?”

Fitz sighs impatiently. “First of all, virginity is a meaningless social construct. Second?” he reminds her.

Jemma raises her eyebrows in understanding. “Right. Secondly, I do love you.”

Fitz’s jaw drops a bit and Jemma rushes to add, “You’re my best friend in the world.”

Fitz closes his mouth and nods. “Right. You’re my best friend, too.”

Jemma finally succumbs to her urge to look away. Fitz’s face is a little too open and earnest for her to handle right now. “And from the research I’ve done, a woman’s first time can hurt,” Jemma continues. “A lot. And that’s why I need it to be with someone I trust.” She forces herself to look back up at Fitz because it’s imperative that he knows how sincere she is when she says this: “And there’s no one I trust as much as you.”

Fitz hesitates. “Can I have some time to think about it when you’re not sitting half-naked in front of me?” he asks. “To be quite honest, I’m not really thinking with my brain at the moment.”

Jemma smiles. She wouldn’t have expected anything less from him. It’s why she trusts him more than anyone. “Of course.”

Fitz looks at her with big blue puppy eyes. “But maybe we could go back to what we were doing before?” he suggests, his voice hopeful.

Jemma’s smile widens as she leans forward and presses her lips to his. “Definitely.”

\----------------

It’s not that Fitz doesn’t want to. He wants to. He really, really wants to.

But he also needs to know what he’s getting himself into. He needs to make sure he’s capable of doing it without mucking it all up. And it’s not enough to do research - he needs to talk it through with someone. That’s how he’s always made his decisions.

Unfortunately, the person with whom he always talks things through is Jemma. And before he had Jemma, it was his mum. And this isn’t really something he can talk through with either of them.

Fitz wanders around campus, trying to think of who he could ask for advice. Without even realizing it, he stops in front of Dr. Hall's office door. He debates internally for a couple minutes.

Well...it _is_ his office hours.

\----------------------

On Thursday afternoon, Fitz leaves Dr. Hall's office with a list of things to buy and questions to ask.

On Thursday evening, the following conversation occurs:

“Remember what we were talking about the other night?”

“About adjusting the olfactory sensors on Sneezy?”

“No. Uh...no. The other thing.”

“What other...oh. _Oh_. What about it?”

“I was just wondering if it was something you still wanted…”

“Yes. It is. I do.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’m in.”

“You want to...”

“Yeah.”

“Brilliant.”

On Friday afternoon, Fitz goes to the drugstore to buy a box of condoms. He does not buy Vaseline. He doesn’t need to. He still has an almost-full jar of it somewhere under his bed.

On Friday night, Jemma and Fitz sit on opposite sides of the couch, refusing to look at, talk to, or touch each other, choosing to focus their attention on watching _Sharkless in Seattle_.

On Saturday morning, after much deliberation on whether she could still be considered a feminist if she wraps herself up like a present for Fitz, Jemma decides that as a feminist, she can do whatever the hell she wants and goes to the mall to buy lingerie. She settles on the most modest item in the store, a simple navy blue slip.

On Saturday afternoon, Fitz returns to the drugstore to buy a chocolate bar for Jemma in case it hurts, a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream in case she starts crying, a pint of Chunky Monkey in case _he_ starts crying, and “fresh linen” scented candles in case Jemma decides they should do it in his room and he needs to pretend he’s actually done laundry in the past month.

On Saturday evening, after sending Fitz to wait for her in her bedroom and barricading herself in the bathroom, Jemma quickly sets her hair in soft curls, carefully applies her makeup, stares at her reflection in the mirror for a full minute, decides the makeup is too much and vigorously washes it all off, takes off her robe, nods once at her reflection, and tells herself, “I’m ready.”

\----------------------

Jemma walks into her bedroom in her satin slip, suddenly feeling ridiculous, like a little girl playing dress up. Fitz’s eyes widen when he sees her, and he averts his gaze as though trying not to objectify her. “It’s okay to look,” she assures him.

They stand facing each other, feet bare and fingers twitching at their sides. Fitz looks down at his jeans and sweater and scratches the back of his head. “I can’t tell whether I’m underdressed or overdressed,” he jokes, his voice shaky.

“You’re fine.” Jemma hates that her voice is shaking too. They’ve already gone so far and she knows that taking this extra step shouldn’t be that big a deal, but her heart is pounding and her brain has gone into overdrive, trying to remember everything she’s supposed to do to make this pleasant for both of them.

Fitz hesitantly takes a step forward, pressing into her space, and gingerly cups her face in his palms, tangling his fingers into her hair. His blue eyes are wide and intent and reflect the nervousness she is sure is emanating from every atom of her body. “May I kiss you?” he asks, very seriously.

Jemma can’t help but roll her eyes. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Fitz sighs, frustrated. “No, but what I mean is, do I have your consent?”

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you have - _mmmph_!”

Fitz crashes his lips into hers, and for all his careful hesitance earlier, here he’s firm and sure, moving his lips over hers with the practiced familiarity established over the past year.

Jemma feels the familiar swoop in her stomach, but it’s dulled somewhat by the refracted vibrations of her jackhammer heart. She moves her hands to the hem of his sweater and pushes it slowly up his torso. He breaks away so that she can pull it over his head. 

Fitz inspects her face. “Is this okay? Are you comfortable?”

Jemma responds by lunging forward and kissing him again, throwing one arm around his neck and running her other hand down his bare chest, trying to build up to the impassioned fervor they’ve reached in previous trials, those nights when they went further than they meant to and had to break apart, breathing heavily, and decide whether it was a one-time thing or something they should incorporate into their future practices. (They always chose the latter.)

But Fitz’s kisses tonight are too calculated and purposeful for them to get lost in each other. Jemma whines into his mouth and does that thing that he likes, where she traces the space behind his upper lip with her tongue, hoping to spur him on. Fitz gently runs his fingertips across her shoulders and down her arms, as though she’s made of fragile glass. Jemma responds by bringing her hands down and squeezing his arse.

It seems to work for a moment - he digs his fingertips into her waist and nips at her bottom lip - but then he’s back to delicately smoothing his hands across her back. Jemma groans and decides to change tactics, tracing inside the waistband of his jeans until she reaches the front, flicking open the button and pulling down his zipper.

Fitz startles in obvious surprise, but otherwise does not react. Jemma pushes his jeans down, breaking her lips away from his so she can bend down until his jeans are pooled around his ankles. Fitz steps out of them and kicks them away.

Jemma is thinking too much and she knows that Fitz is too. The problem, she decides, is that they're still standing. Jemma takes his hand in both of hers and pulls him towards her bed. They both sit, still facing each other, and lean into each other again. Fitz places one hand carefully on her waist and with the other, traces her collarbone with his fingers. His hand finally - finally - drifts further down her chest and he breaks away and gasps, “Do I have your consent?”

Jemma opens her eyes. “To what?”

“To touch your...you know…your...” Fitz stares at her cleavage.

“Fitz, if you want to touch it, you’re going to have to be able to say it.”

“Your boobs,” he blurts.

Jemma gives him an incredulous look. “You’ve touched them before,” she reminds him.

“Yeah, but just because I’ve done something before doesn’t mean that I automatically have permission to do it again,” Fitz points out.

Jemma groans and drops her forehead onto his shoulder. “Look, let’s just say that tonight, you can just assume I give my consent to everything we’ve already done before.”

Fitz wraps his arms around Jemma in a hug and turns his head to press a kiss into her hair. “Alright.” He brings a hand up to the back of her head and strokes her hair until she looks up at him. He leans in to kiss her lips again.

His hand leaves her hair and returns to her neck, to her chest, traveling down until he’s gently fondling her, his movements far more deliberate than she’s used to. His other hand trails down her back and to the hem of her slip, lifting it up to her waist. “Do I have your consent?”

Jemma pushes impatiently at his shoulders. “Fitz! What did we just talk about?! You’ve seen me topless before!”

“But I’ve never actually taken off your underwear before,” Fitz argues. “You always did it yourself.”

Jemma frowns as she tries to think back on the past few months. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Fitz insists. “I never got the hang of that stupid bra clasp.” He gives her a quick peck on her lips. "And you've never been a particularly patient teacher." He grins and runs a finger along the strap of her slip, leaning their foreheads together. “You should’ve started wearing these things ages ago - would’ve made my life a lot easier.”

Jemma can’t help but smile. “When have I ever made anything easy for you?”

Fitz leans in to kiss her again, but Jemma leans back. “Seriously, Fitz. You need to stop asking me if you have my consent. I’d let you know if I felt uncomfortable with anything.”

Fitz’s grin disappears. “But it’s not enough for someone not to say ‘no.’ There needs to be an enthusiastic ‘yes.’”

Jemma pulls out of his embrace and stands up.

Fitz frowns and furrows his brow. “Jem - wait. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

Jemma pulls off her slip in one swift movement, then shimmies out of her panties. “Is this enough of an enthusiastic yes?” She’s so frustrated, she can’t even find it in herself to feel self-conscious of her nudity.

Fitz’s eyes widen. “Uhhhh…” He nods dumbly.

“Good. Can we get on with this then?”

Fitz scoots up the bed until he’s reclining against the pillows. Jemma approaches him carefully, like a predator approaching its prey, afraid that he’ll spook and run away - or worse, ask for her consent again. She crawls across the bed until she’s lying over him. “Hi,” she smiles down at him.

Fitz smiles back, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Hello.”

Jemma leans down, latching onto his neck and pressing open-mouthed kisses inside the dips of his clavicle. She can hear Fitz’s laboured breathing and his heart pounding furiously in his chest - and then it occurs to her. She scrambles off of him.

“Do I have _your_ consent?” Jemma asks, panicked.

Fitz sits up. “What?”

Jemma runs her hand through her hair. “It just occurred to me that this was my idea in the first place and I kind of pressured you into it and you’ve been so hesitant this whole time - I didn’t even check to see if you even wanted to do this!”

Fitz reaches for Jemma and cups her face in his hands, steadying her. “I want to do this. I promise.”

Jemma clutches at his arms. “Then why have you been so-”

Fitz sighs. “Because you told me that you trust me. And I don’t want to break that trust. I just…” Fitz shakes his head and leans his forehead against hers. “I don’t want to let you down, Jemma.”

“You won’t,” Jemma promises, feeling oddly emotional, as though she could start crying at any second, which is ridiculous because that is not what this night is about. “No matter what, you’ll still be my best friend, and there’s still no other person I’d rather be doing this with.”

“Oh,” Fitz breathes out. “Same.”

\-------------------------------------

In the end, it does hurt. A lot.

Though when she tenses beneath him, face contorted in pain, Fitz pauses to kiss her temple and forehead and nose and chin and every part of her face he can reach and moves his fingers to stroke every erogenous zone he can think of. And when Fitz asks if she wants to stop, she shakes her head no and tells him to keep going, so he does, slowly and carefully. And when he worriedly offers to retrieve the Vaseline that he forgot in his bedroom, her incredulity overcomes her pain long enough for her to fondly roll her eyes and give him an exasperated look.

So in the end, it could have gone a lot worse.

And in the end, they’re still best friends.

\--------------------------------

Fitz scoots in closer to Jemma, draping an arm around her waist and nestling his head into her neck. Jemma bends her arm to scratch his scalp affectionately. She turns her head slightly to kiss his forehead. The skin there is smooth and soft, so she kisses it again. And again.

Jemma wraps her other arm around Fitz’s shoulders and squeezes him tightly to her. It’s funny - he was literally just inside of her, but she still feels like it wasn’t close enough - like he could never be close enough for her. She runs her hands over his shoulders, his back, every part of him she can reach. She hugs him tightly again, wanting to feel the pressure of his body against hers, wondering if she squeezes hard enough, if their two bodies could meld together and their atoms could mingle, because that’s the only way she could ever feel like they are close enough.

Jemma’s never felt this before - this desperate need for someone. Not the need for something he provides - comfort, conversation, company, friendship, kisses, touches - no, it wasn’t any of that. It was just...him. Just his being with her being. She wishes her skin were a coat so that she could unbutton it and have him step inside with her and wrap it around them both and button it up again and they could live together always in her skin-coat.

“I’m sorry,” Fitz says softly.

Jemma squeezes her arms around him again. “Don’t be. It was perfect.”

Fitz rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to baby me, you know. I know it wasn’t perfect.”

“It was,” Jemma insists, returning her hand to his hair, gently running her fingers through it. “It was with you.”

Fitz turns his face into her chest and mumbles, “I hurt you.”

“It would’ve hurt either way,” Jemma assures him. “It won’t hurt as much next time.”

Fitz pauses for a long moment. “Next time?” he asks, his voice a shaky combination of hope and fear.

Jemma bites her lower lip. “I mean, we wouldn’t have to. I meant in general, but...I mean, I would like to try again. If you don’t mind.”

Fitz pushes up onto his elbow and looks down at her. “You would?”

Jemma reaches up and smooths out the wrinkle between his eyebrows with her fingertips. “It’s just...I’d like to see what it’s like when it doesn’t hurt so much. And I’d like for you to be able to experience it when you don’t have to be so concerned about me and you can just relax and enjoy it.”

Fitz swallows audibly. “When? I mean, when do you want to try again?”

Jemma shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. We can take our time. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

Fitz relaxes. “Okay,” he agrees, lying back down and returning his head to her shoulder. “Me neither.” His hand skims across the skin of the flat plane of her belly before curling around her waist. They lie silently for a few moments before Fitz interrupts the quiet stillness again. “I got you a Cadbury bar.”

Jemma smiles softly at him. “Did you really?” she asks, matching the sleepily satisfied timbre of his voice.

“Mmhmm.”

Jemma kisses his forehead again. “Let’s see it, then.”

Fitz reaches over to get the chocolate from the nightstand while Jemma sits up and rearranges the pillows behind her back. Fitz hands her the chocolate bar, and after unwrapping it, Jemma snaps it in half and offers one piece to him. They sit in bed together, quietly munching on their chocolate, smiling goofily at each other.

“You’re my best friend in the world, Fitz.”

“You’re my best friend too, Jemma.”

They try again three days later. And the week after that. And the week after that. And the week after that.

And for the time being, they’re still best friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Me having no social life + my slight obsession with this 'verse + a 4-day weekend = this story being done WAY earlier than I had anticipated.
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing mature content, so you'll have to forgive me because it's as awkward for me to write the word "boobs" as it is for Fitz to say it.
> 
> I'm Lalallicat on Tumblr.
> 
> Comments and constructive feedback are appreciated.


End file.
